Cut and Thrust

by Stuart Woods

  He had not quite got set up when Barbara appeared on the terrace in a dressing gown.

  —

  BARBARA TOOK HER seat opposite Charles, who looked up and smiled at her. For some reason, it annoyed her; he was always smiling at her or kissing her forehead or patting her ass in a proprietary way. She had found all this charming at first, but it had palled as the marriage wore on.

  “Busy day today?” Charles asked.

  “A board meeting and lunch at the museum,” she said. “I may develop a cold, I haven’t decided.”

  “How will they ever get on without you there?”

  “How will they ever paper over the cracks in their budget without my checkbook at the ready? That’s all they care about—certainly not my opinion.”

  —

  BILLY USED THE telescopic sight, now. He checked a flag on top of her building and it hung slack. He got comfortable and set the rifle on the tripod. This was looking good.

  He sighted, and discovered that at least three-quarters of Barbara was behind her husband; he waited for one of them to move.

  —

  BARBARA FINISHED her melon. “I’m going to take my coffee and paper to bed,” she said. “I’m more comfortable there.” She got up and walked into the living room.

  —

  BILLY HAD NO more than an instant for a shot at her, but she was moving, and a sheet of newspaper on the table suddenly blew off with a puff of wind. Then she was inside, carrying her coffee and newspaper. He had missed his opportunity.

  “Shit,” he said aloud.

  His cell phone began to ring, and he answered it. “This is Billy Burnett.”

  “Good morning, Billy, it’s Peter. How are you feeling?”

  “Much better, thank you, Peter.”

  “We’ve got that casting session you set up at three this afternoon. Will you be here for it?”

  Billy had nearly forgotten. “Yes, Peter, I’ll be there after lunch.”

  “See you then.”

  Billy hung up and began dismantling the rifle. This was going to have to wait, probably until after the weekend.

  Charles Grosvenor arrived at the Bentley dealership, went directly to his office, and called Hugh Gordon, Barbara’s newly hired publicist.

  “Good morning, Charles,” the man said smoothly.

  “Hugh, how are you coming on the editing of Barbara’s interview with that Hale woman?”

  “Charles, I was going to call Barbara in a few minutes. I think I may have gotten the entire interview killed. The CEO at WSFO has told me that he has about decided not to run it.”

  “‘About decided’? What does that mean?”

  “It means he’s seriously thinking about not running it. Pam is beside herself, of course, but it’s her boss’s decision, and he’s leaning toward not running it.”

  “How can he be pushed all the way?”

  “That’s my job, Charles, and I’m working hard at it. I’ve told the man that Barbara feels she was sandbagged, which she was, and that if the second part of the interview runs, she will consider legal action. He knows that Barbara has deep pockets and that a successful lawsuit could break his company, and I’ve also been feeding his concerns about the reaction of the arts community in San Francisco, which depends so heavily on Barbara for large contributions. I think he has begun to see that the consequences of running the interview are unpredictable, to say the least.”

  “Please be sure to convey all this directly to Barbara, Hugh. She’s very upset, and frankly, she’s driving me crazy. I need to get this business favorably settled and get her out of town. A change of scenery will do wonders for her.”

  “Is she awake now?”

  “She is, and she would be grateful for your call.”

  “Then I’ll call her as soon as we hang up. By the way, Charles, I’m interested in talking with you about a Bentley.”

  “Wonderful, Hugh. In which model does your interest lie?”

  “The Flying Spur, I think.”

  “Hold on just a moment, will you, Hugh?”

  “Certainly.”

  Charles pressed the hold button and checked his inventory on his computer, then he went back to the call. “Hugh, I have a new Flying Spur that’s being used as a press car at the moment. Why don’t you take it for the weekend and drive someplace beautiful? Down to Carmel or up to Napa?”

  “I would be delighted,” Hugh said.

  “The car is its own best salesman,” Charles said. “If you have any questions, make a note of them. We’ll have lunch early next week and I’ll answer them.”

  “Wonderful, Charles.”

  “You can pick up the car here anytime Friday afternoon. Or, if you’d prefer, I’ll have it delivered to you.”

  “I’ll pick it up, I think.”

  “See you then.”

  Charles hung up feeling very much better. He could see an end to this interview business, and he had probably sold a car.

  He called his service manager and instructed him to clean the car, and especially the upholstery. He wanted it to have that new-car smell when Hugh Gordon got into it.

  He had to find a way to get Barbara happy again. He enjoyed being wealthy, and divorce would not be a good idea. He had seen the effect that rejection had on Barbara, and he did not wish to replace Ed Eagle as the object of her enmity.

  —

  STONE ACCEPTED AN invitation to lunch with Bill Eggers, the managing partner of his law firm, Woodman & Weld. They met at the Four Seasons, where Eggers had a regular table.

  Eggers ordered his usual martini, and Stone had mineral water. He had found that it was important to have a clear head during these seemingly informal lunches with Bill.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t get to see more of you at the convention, Bill,” Stone said. “It got rather busy.”

  “That’s quite all right, Stone. All the insiders I know are giving you credit for swinging the nomination to Kate Lee.”

  “That’s an exaggeration,” Stone said.

  “Still, it makes you an important FOK.”

  “A what?”

  “Friend of Kate.”

  “Ah, yes.”

  “If she gets elected, of course. But right now, it looks like her election to lose. Have you seen her commercials?”

  “Just one, on Morning Joe, earlier today.”

  “I think they’re brilliant. Henry Carson, assuming he gets the Republican nomination, is going to look like the usual Republican stuffed shirt when compared to her. Hank makes Mitt Romney look like a hippie.”

  Stone laughed.

  “And it doesn’t hurt that half the men in America could imagine themselves in bed with Kate.”

  “Well, half the men you’re acquainted with, Bill.”

  “Stone, as you know, we’re thought of as a Democratic law firm, and we’ve been very close to Will Lee’s administration.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “I’d like us to be much closer to Kate’s administration,” Eggers said. “That’s why I gave her super PAC a million dollars a while back. I assume that’s why you did, too.”

  “No, that’s not why. I just think she’d make a terrific president.”

  “That, too,” Eggers said, smiling slightly. “Here’s my advice, Stone—turn a section of your iPhone into a Rolodex of people close to Kate. It will become useful next year.”

  Stone couldn’t disagree.

  “And now that the convention is over, perhaps you could turn your attention to making some rain?”

  “I’m always on the alert for new business, Bill. But remember, I have to go to Paris this fall for the opening of L’Arrington there.”

  Eggers groaned.

  “What, isn’t Marcel duBois a good enough client?”

  “Well, now that you men
tion it, yes. Find me two or three more like him while you’re over there.”

  “Bill, there aren’t two or three more like Marcel.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, Bill, I do.”

  When Stone got back from lunch, there was a note from Dino to be on the steps of City Hall at four o’clock. He buzzed Joan.

  “Yes, my lord and master?”

  “Find out how big a donation I can legally make to the mayoral campaign of Commissioner Tom Donnelly.”

  “Stone, were you drinking at lunch?”

  “No, why?”

  “The commissioner is not a candidate for mayor, to my knowledge.”

  “Your knowledge is out of date. He’s announcing at four o’clock. Then the present mayor will appoint Dino police commissioner.”

  “Wow! I’ll get right on it.”

  Stone hung up. A minute later Joan buzzed him.

  “Yes?”

  “Four thousand nine hundred and fifty dollars,” she said.

  “Are you sure that’s all?”

  “That’s all.”

  “Okay, cut a check to Tom Donnelly for Mayor, put it in an envelope, and give it to me.”

  “Certainly.”

  Ed Eagle knocked on the inside door to Stone’s office.

  “Come in, Ed. Do you and Susannah want to go down to City Hall with me and watch Dino get sworn in as commissioner at four?”

  “I’d love to,” Ed said, “but Susannah is shopping, and I don’t think I’d better disturb her.”

  “We’ll have to leave shortly,” Stone said. “Traffic’s bad this time of day.” He asked Joan to have Fred bring around the car.

  —

  THEY MADE IT to City Hall just in time; a crowd had already gathered on the steps. Stone and Ed got out of the car, and Fred moved off in search of parking.

  Dino saw them and waved them around the crowd to where he stood with Viv. “You’re in my party,” he said. “Stand here.”

  Somebody tested the sound system, then the mayor stepped forward. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my great honor to introduce Police Commissioner Tom Donnelly!” He stepped back and yielded the small podium, and the commissioner stepped forward.

  “Good afternoon, everybody. I’m here to announce that I have just handed my resignation as police commissioner to the mayor, effective immediately, and that he has accepted it, I hope with regret.” There was a chorus of nos, mixed with applause. “That said, I am here to announce my candidacy for mayor in the upcoming Democratic primary!” Much applause and cheering. The commissioner went on for another two minutes, listing some of the things he wanted to do. “And now, I believe the mayor has another announcement.” He surrendered the podium.

  “Actually,” the mayor said, “I have two announcements. First, I think it would be a grave error to leave the position of police commissioner open, even for a day, and so I am very pleased to announce my appointment of Chief of Detectives Dino Bacchetti to the office of commissioner, effective immediately.” Much applause, then the mayor continued. “Dino has served the NYPD at every level during a career that took him from patrolman, to detective, to lieutenant, to captain, and then to chief of detectives, in which office he has served brilliantly. And incidentally, Dino will be the youngest police commissioner of New York since Theodore Roosevelt, more than a hundred and twenty-five years ago! Dino, step up here and get sworn in.”

  Somebody produced a Bible, and Viv stepped forward to hold it.

  “And holding the Bible,” the mayor said, “is retired detective Vivian Bacchetti!”

  Suddenly, there was a disturbance at the rear of the crowd. Stone, standing high on the steps, could see Fred Flicker’s back as he fought someone else. He ran around the crowd, grabbing for his honorary badge, and approached a little knot of people. Fred was being pulled off a man who lay on his back on the steps, and a uniformed cop was relieving the man of a pistol. Two detectives, one of whom Stone knew, dragged Fred backward on his heels while one took Fred’s gun from him.

  Stone flashed his badge. “Hold on there, gentlemen,” he said. “That man is with me, and he is licensed to carry that weapon. Show them your license, Fred.”

  Fred did so, and his gun was returned to him and holstered.

  “What the hell is going on?” Stone asked one of the detectives.

  “I’m not sure,” the man said, “but I saw guns, and I got in there.”

  “Mr. Barrington,” Fred said, “I saw that man draw a weapon and aim it, I think, at the mayor. I was the only person close to him, so I tackled him.”

  “Well done, Fred. You gentlemen, take him aside and get his ID and his statement. I’ll be up there.” He pointed to where Dino and the others stood, staring down at him, then he ran around the crowd and took up his former position behind Viv.

  “May we continue now, Mr. Barrington?” the mayor asked.

  “Yes, of course, sir. Someone was just trying to shoot you, but he was thwarted.”

  “Just as soon as I get Dino sworn in, I want to hear about that,” the mayor said, and Stone nodded. The mayor returned to his work and took the oath from Dino—then he turned back to the crowd. “I have one more announcement to make,” he said. “I am very pleased to offer my wholehearted, unconditional endorsement of Tom Donnelly as the next mayor of New York City!”

  —

  AFTERWARD, AS STONE was explaining to the mayor, Tom Donnelly, and Dino what had happened, he saw Fred leave the two detectives and approach. He waved the little man over. “Mayor,” he said, “I’d like to introduce you to the gentleman who just saved your life. This is Frederick Flicker, formerly of the Royal Marines.”

  The mayor pumped Fred’s hand, who looked embarrassed.

  Fred shook the offered hands, then said, “I’d better get the car.” And he did.

  When they were driving uptown, Stone said, “Fred, I’m glad we got you that carry license.”

  “So am I, sir,” Fred replied. “I considered shooting the man but thought better of it.”

  “I’m so glad you did, Fred,” Stone said.

  Stone waited dinner for Ann, and she managed to get home at eight o’clock, looking flustered.

  “Anything bad happen?” Stone asked.

  “That depends on your definition of ‘bad,’” she replied, then she threw up her hands. “Don’t ask!”

  “All right, I won’t.” He led her to the study and poured her a martini. “Helene is putting the finishing touches on dinner,” he said.

  “So, how was your day?”

  “Well, let’s see. The police commissioner resigned from office and announced for mayor. The mayor appointed Dino to succeed as commissioner, effective immediately, and Fred tackled a gunman and saved the mayor’s life.”

  “What? Tell me everything!”

  Stone told her everything. He was about to pour them another drink when Fred entered the study.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Barrington, dinner is served in the kitchen.”

  “Fred,” Ann said, “I want to congratulate you on your bravery this afternoon. I’ve heard all about it, and that was a marvelous piece of work.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Fred said. “I saw my duty, and I done it, that’s all.”

  “That’s all anyone can ask of a man,” Stone observed.

  “Ah, Mr. Barrington, I’m sorry to bring this up, but I’ve been besieged by all sorts of newspaper and television people for interviews.”

  “Do you want to become even more famous, Fred? If so, grant the interviews.”

  “Oh, no, sir, I was trained to do my duty quietly and avoid public exposure.”

  “Then ask Joan to tell them all that Mr. Flicker wishes to maintain his privacy and not grant any interviews or photos.”

  “A very good plan, Mr. Barrington. I’ll tell J
oan.”

  Fred led them downstairs as if they didn’t know the way and seated Ann while Stone selected a bottle from the wine cooler. He decanted it and poured them each a glass.

  “Oh, Greek food!” Ann enthused. “My favorite.”

  “Now that Helene has heard you say that, you may never be given anything else,” Stone said.

  They dined on dolmades—stuffed vine leaves—and moussaka—a casserole of lamb and aubergines covered with a béchamel sauce—and drank the sturdy Amarone Stone had chosen. Stone shooed Helene and Fred out of the kitchen, telling them to worry about the dishes tomorrow.

  —

  IN LOS ANGELES, Billy and Betsy Burnett were leaving the studio together for the drive home.

  “What happened in San Francisco?” Betsy asked.

  “Oh, nothing,” Billy replied.

  “Come on, Billy, do you think I don’t know why you went there for two nights?”

  “Don’t make suppositions.”

  “I’m not supposing, I know. And if you’ve resumed killing people, then I think I have a right to know so that I can help keep anyone from finding out. You’ll need an alibi, you know.”

  “Darling,” Billy said, “I promise I will never put you in such a position that you will need to give me an alibi.”

  “What happened in San Francisco?” she demanded.

  “When I said nothing, I was telling the truth.”

  “Billy, when you undertake something like that, something happens.”

  “It’s not that I didn’t try,” Billy said, sighing. “I made two attempts, both foiled by circumstances.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad,” Betsy said.

  “Don’t be glad—it will have to be done at some point.”

  “Will it really, Billy? Isn’t there another way?”